La Viole Blanche
by VioletLolitaPop
Summary: He's growing up and growing old. Growing tired and growing bored. Therein lies one of the problems. Boredom breeds perversion and he has no interest in that.
1. Two Bodies Have I

**xxx  
>I.<br>xxx**

Today is the beginning of the end.

Although the backdrop of the setting for such a momentous occasion is nothing particularly special. The screen's painted to look just like the image of an empty field on a cloudless day and the stage is covered in sod and plush waist high grass that's blown back and forth ever so slightly by the low setting of the wind. Yet it's with this scenery that blue eyes lock with blue and a white colored violin is brought up, placed in it's standard playing position, the bow against the strings.

The first note is drawn out.

"This is insane."

"What is?" The Violinist asks.

"You know what I'm talking about. You can't possibly want to go through with this."

The music progresses.

"Stop it."

"There's no stopping a performance once it begins."

Blonde hair follows the movements of a head shaking back and forth, denying the truth.

"I just don't really know why…"

"It's for your own good."

"You don't know what's good for me."

"I don't?"

The Violinist is so certain, so undeniably convinced that he is the better, that he is in control and it is his solemn duty to act in the manner most suiting for their preservation. He is not held back by the many faults that lay within his counterpart. He is able to think logically, rationally. Yes, he knows what is best.

"Please?" the other begs. "Do you even-? Can you do this to your own home?"

The music continues. It never falters.

"Home?"

**-.-.-**

_Synthetic Animals Like Me Never Have a Home_

**-.-.-**

It's the first morning of their conferences and America finds himself in the company of Alfred's boss as they first arrive at the designated meeting place for their talks.

While they walk through the halls and corridors, America feels the quick glances thrown in his direction by the other man. Just for laughs, he catches the other in mid-glance and tilts his head in what seems to be confusion before giving him a toothy grin.

"What the matter, boss-man?" he asks. "Do I got something on my face?"

The other clears his throat, a way to conceal the flustered feeling of being caught in the act, and replies, "No, nothing at all."

America allows a small relieved chuckle to emit from the back of his throat. "That's a relief. Wouldn't want to look stupid in front of the others, huh?"

He gives no reply. For the first time in the duration of his presidency, the other male feels the need to tread carefully around his nation. An instinct brought out by the blonde's normally humor filled eyes being slightly narrowed in his direction as though accusing the other of something unspoken and the faintly hardened tone that had been displayed at the end of the second half of his response.

The two continue on their way, although now it's the other man feeling America's eyes on him constantly. He tries to pay no mind to the scrutiny in which he's being stared at and the growing tension between them as America comes to the realization of knowing that he knows and plasters his casual smile in accordance of feigning normalcy.

It's a godsend when they come across another pair, Alfred's boss immediately identifies the Russian nation with his own leader and hurries his pace much to the blonde's amusement. America follows behind at a slightly slower step, wanting to watch the pleasantries between Ivan, his boss, and the one who so desperately wishes to escape his company before having to go through the same treatment though perhaps on a bit more of an intimate level with the Russian nation.

His suspicions are correct as Ivan is the first to greet America when he does catch up, grabbing his hand and bringing it up to his lips. He plants a small kiss on the backside of his palm to which America slightly chuckles at before saying, "Fedya, it has been much too long since we last met in person."

America cocks him a wink and a smile and squeezes his hand in the other's just a little tighter to keep up appearances. "Same to you, big guy."

"Amerika," Ivan's boss greets. "A pleasure to be seeing you."

America returns the sentiment, sounding very sincere at that, and a brief discussion of which wing the nations themselves would be congregating in while the leaders spoke to one another takes place after.

"Shall we?" Ivan addresses to America as the bosses pick up their own conversation.

"Might as well get this over with," America replies with a small smile and tired nod. He gives his attention back to the bosses with the purpose of saying a small farewell. "Later then, boss, see ya in a few."

Ivan bids his farewell also and as the two walk away, America chatting up a storm between them, Ivan feels the prickle of eyes watching and looks back quickly to sight of Alfred's superior watching them leave. No, watching America leave. Very intently it seems, given the fact that he has not yet recognized Ivan's eyes on him.

He's puzzled over the fact, naturally, but faces forward once more and slips easily into America's one-sided conversation. He doesn't bring the subject to light until they find themselves situated in some restaurant, just the two of them, for lunch.

"Is there something the matter at your home?" he asks.

"Hm? Oh, well, just the usual," America answers back. "But that'll be fixed up soon enough. Why?"

"I only ask because as we were leaving this morning for our own meeting, your boss was watching us. Or rather, he was watching you with a curious expression."

"Oh that," America laughs. "Yeah, he's been worried about me and stuff since I told him that I didn't think it'd be a good idea to spend any more time in other people's business before fixing up the home front first."

The conversation is interrupted by their waiter bringing their plates. A small number of 'thank you's' are to be had as porcelain is set upon wood before she leaves their side.

"I am able to understand his concern after being told such a thing," Ivan says once they are able to speak in private once more. "What happened to your liking of being a hero?"

America shrugs the question off with a light laugh. "I guess I'm just growing up."

Growing up and growing old. Growing tired and growing bored. Therein lies one of the problems. Boredom breeds perversion and he has no interest in that.

"Now there is a prospect I am sure many others will appreciate," Ivan teases before tucking into his meal.

America uses this distraction to smile wryly to himself.

When night falls, America finds himself alone with Ivan in his hotel room. He knows it is only natural for them to be so, what with the well-known status of their relationship, and yet seeing as to what he must do by the end of their congregation, he can't help but feel as though he should put a stop to Ivan's caresses that move up and down the sides of his torso while their mouths work over one another in a fury of roaming tongues and muffled groans.

However, those thoughts begin to flitter away with every kiss Ivan plants on his neck after wrenching away from America's mouth and completely dissipate with a harsh bite to the sensitive spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He loses himself in a lust driven haze filled with clothes stripped, hair pulled, legs spread, and toes curled. He finds himself in the crossfire of pain and pleasure, of being filled repeatedly again and again with each of Ivan's thrusts and the instinctual habit of plunging into them while begging for more until the tight coil of heat in each of their bodies to snap and leave them ragged.

They lay tangled together in a panting mess before Ivan finally pulls himself out and away, plopping next to America with heavy eyes. He reaches out and places one palm flat against America's cheek, moving the blonde's face in his direction before pulling themselves close together and kisses his lips once more.

"_I love you_," he mutters in his mother tongue and America is able to understand the words perfectly well.

He's thankful that Ivan falls asleep almost immediately after declaring such. He's thankful that he didn't register him not saying it back.

..

..

..

..

..

Some time in the early hours of the morning, on the last evening of their conference, Ivan rolls over onto his other side and instinctively reaches out for a warmth that should be residing by him. What he feels, however, is nothing more than cooled bedding and cotton touch, causing his mind to fog into something more alert and his eyes to crack open.

It takes him a moment to come to terms of being alone in bed, and when it finally dawns upon him, he sits up and searches the room for his missing lover. He finds America through the opened sliding door, leaning over the railing of the balcony with a cigarette hanging from between his lips. For some reason this disturbs Ivan, as he hasn't seen Alfred smoke since some time after then end of the second World War and fondly remembers the young nation swearing off of cigarettes for some inane reason or other.

"Fedya?" he calls out softly. "Is there something the matter?"

America turns at the name, but doesn't reply. His eyes slowly fall to the floor below before turning away completely, giving his attention back to the night air and the acrid scent of tobacco and toxins.

All the more concerned, Ivan lifts the bed linen away from him and gets up from bed. He pads to the open door and straight for America. He wraps his arms around the blonde's waist when he's close enough and presses a small kiss against the side of his head.

"Is there something the matter?" he repeats softly against his temple. "Tell me."

America remains still in his embrace, allowing the small token of affection to be showered on him before effectively ruining the atmosphere between them with one uttered sentence.

"I wanna break up."

Ivan unwraps his arms from America's waist and pulls away instantly. A frown tugs at his mouth as he sees the blonde visibly relax from the lack of contact and watches the cigarette fall from his lips down to the floor below.

Today is the beginning of something new.

**xxx**

Disclaimer: Touched by angels though I fall out of grace.

-I read too many comic books. That's all I have to say. 8D

-A'ight then, let's blast this shizz to the back row. -puts on sunglasses- B)

**xxx**

Hey, you! Yeah, you!

Check this link out: www. dailymotion video/xhx43s_rather-a-horse-though_news


	2. Though Both Joined in One

**xxx  
><strong>**II.**  
><strong>xxx<strong>

He lies in a crumpled heap on the floor of a polished room, well-furnished to display the extent of his wealth and status. He stirs lightly, all while breathing shallowly so that his lungs may avoid the few broken ribs as much as possible. With his one good arm, he attempts to drag his body away from the scene, growing frantic at the _click clack click clack_ approaching from across the floorboards. His efforts are put to an immediate halt with a rasping shout as a three-inch heel crushes his hand.

This predicament is more or less his fault, not only for the atrocities that he's been condemed of, but for also underestimating his opponent on the very fact that she is a woman.

"I will give you some credit though," she says while readjusting the top of her suit and wipes the blood away from the corner of her mouth. "For a high-hat, you can really take a hit."

She removes her heel from his hand and delivers a swift kick to his gut, throwing him against the wall and causing even more pain then truly necessary. From behind brown strands of hair falling into his eyes, a small amount of tears threaten to swell as he holds back another shout and glares up at the woman primping her own black locks back into place.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she scolds. "It's not my fault you didn't grow up fighting like I did. I guess that's just another difference between the two of us, the social classes in which we grew up in, but to be perfectly honest, I find _that_ particular difference to be slightly more aggravating than all of those in our political stances."

A low guttural sound comes out from the back of his throat. In a horse groan he's able to ask only, "Why?"

"Hm…" she sounds, leaning all of her weight onto one foot with both hands resting on her hips and her head tilted upwards in thought. "Is that a 'Why is it more aggravating?' or one of those cliché 'Why are you doing this?' questions?"

She shrugs. "Either way I suppose the answer is the same. The ending rant to both those subjects would sum up the feeling I have that you and I are not only members of opposing political parties, but also on opposing sides of what we think we should be doing with our careers."

She turns sharply to a darkened doorframe, half shadowing a learning figure bearing witness to the conversation with morbid amusement, and asks, "Isn't that right, sir?"

"Something like that," the shadowed figure replies. He straightens himself and removes himself away from the frame, revealing himself to the other male by nearing the two. He reaches into the inside of his suit jacket and pulls out a 9mm complete with silencer. He takes one of the woman's hands and presses it into her palm.

"Will you show me?" he asks her. "What you are willing to do in order to care for my well-being?"

She nods once, determined expression plastered across her face while clutching the weapon to her chest. She turns on her heel and points the barrel at her opponent's head. The other man's eyes widen, glossed over with fear and snaps them to the one standing behind her.

"I care," he croaks out at him. "I do- I've always-."

She pulls the trigger once, twice, three times and regards the corpse with a look of utter contempt.

_**-.-.-**_

_Oh Yes, We All Give a Damn Now_

_**-.-.-**_

"Y'know, I'm still kinda in shock over the whole thing. It feels like just yesterday you were telling me how happy you were to be starting a relationship with Ivan, and today I'm getting 2am phone calls from him asking if I still don't know any of the reasons behind the break-up."

America flips lazily through television stations while Matthew chatters away on the other end of the sofa. He slides his eyes over to his brother, whom in turn keeps his own eyes glued to the ever changing channels in their slowing pace.

"He's seriously bugging you about that?" America asks him. He sighs wearily and the channel surfing becomes more aggressive. "I gave him my reasons, he doesn't need to be bugging you or anyone else."

Matthew removes his stare away from his own television set, turning his head completely to give America his attention.

"About those reasons," he begins, "I don't think I would've really accepted them either. I mean, the two of you were dating for _years_, distance was never a problem before and if I remember right, you even said that because Ivan wasn't around so often, it made you want him even more."

America's hand pauses on the remote, taking the time to listen to Matthew's words before shrugging them off and continues as before.

"Even if I did," he tells his brother, "feelings change."

America's eyes slightly haze over at his own words and for a moment he's completely oblivious to his surroundings as his thoughts run rampant on the subject. Feelings change, people change, ideas change, everything changes. Sometimes for the better, mostly though for the worse. Though that's usually the player's fault, gambler's on a winning streak who don't know when to quit playing. These thoughts are only put to a stop by the sound of Matthew's voice.

"You're feelings changed?" Matthew asks, sounding particularly accusing. "And where did those feelings change to? Kiku, maybe?"

America promptly snaps his head in his brother's direction and curses himself for the reaction at the sight of the other blonde's rising eyebrows. He calmly sets the remote down on the coffee table and asks, "What does that mean?"

"Yong-Soo told me you spent almost an entire month with him a few weeks after the last conference. With that and your 'changed feelings' speech, anyone would put two and two together to come up with the same answer."

"Well 'anyone' failed math, 'cause that is _not_ the right answer."

"So then what were you doing with Kiku?"

America opens his mouth to retort, but closes it once more almost instantly. It's not a difficult task in revealing to Matthew that his business had little to with Kiku and more to do with _Japan_, but in doing so it may cause further ruckus. That may or may not be a conclusion based on paranoia, yet either way America feels such information should be kept to himself for the time being. However, Matthew does not share that sentiment.

"Al?" he calls out.

"It doesn't matter what I tell you, you're gonna go ahead and believe whatever anyone else is saying, so what's the point?"

Matthew's eyebrows furrow together as he regards his brother. "Are you feelin' okay, Al?"

"Peachy," America grunts, causing his brother to sigh.

"I don't mean to sound like I'm attacking you or anything," Matthew mutters and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm pretty sure you're stressed enough with all the problems going on at your place-"

"Whoa, wait a minute," America interrupts. "What problems?"

Matthew grabs at the remote on the surface in front of them and switches to a news station America's become familiar with as of late.

"These problems," Matthew tells him just as another bulletin shows a multitude of politician's still missing before being wiped out to show another screen of those that have been found dead. "I do like to keep a regular tab on what goes on in the only country that borders mine. I would like to think you do the same."

America only gives him a sort of half shrug and resists the urge to ask him which country he is again.

Just as Matthew is about to scold him on the subject of being a responsible nation, a news alert flashes across the screen as the commentator informs those tuning in on the finds of a reported missing congressman's body being found.

"Another one?" Matthew questions aloud, clearly more attentive and concerned over the matter than the other blonde.

The two in a comfortable silence as a brief report is given on the situation before it's replaced with the image of a woman with dark hair black hair that had taken over the found congressman's position behind a podium and speaking on the subject herself. They then watch a brief question and answer segment that is only standard before she launches herself into a political tirade.

"I don't understand how this woman is in any position of power," Matthew comments. "She's a fanatic."

America hums in manner that is neither agreeable or disagreeable. "I'm not sure about that. I mean, I couldn't ask for a more patriotic child."

"Yeah, but have you been listening to what she says? It's as though every speech she gives is an ode to isolationism and people who define underhanded politics."

Matthew misses the small twitch that occurs in the corner of America's right away and honestly doesn't pay his brother the slightest bit of attention to him until he stands and announces his departure.

"Are you sure?" Matthew asks. "We haven't even gone out for lunch yet."

"I know, but with this _recent_ development, I guess I should get back and see what's up, y'know?"

Matthew nods in agreement and stands as well, prepared to walk his brother to the door out of common courtesy. At the door, America turns back to his brother and with a smile tells him, "When you talk to Ivan about this later, please tell him that I didn't run out early just to avoid talking about him."

"I- What?" Matthew asks with an innocent air.

America looks at him pointedly and states, "You didn't let that subject drop for a second while I was here. I know it's normal and all to care as a brother, but even that's a little too much. You gonna tell me you didn't agree to play informant for him?"

Matthew isn't entirely sure whether he should feel impressed or somewhat annoyed. "Since when have you been able to read the atmosphere?"

"Since always," America replies with a small wink. "See you later, bro."

Matthew closes the door and makes sure to lock it after America takes his leave. He's not even a foot back into his living room before he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his cell phone. He flops back onto the sofa, all but ignoring the television now as he searches his contacts. In a few moments, Kumajirou comes out of hiding and pads over to his owner, takes his time in climbing onto the sofa and then letting his head fall into Matthew's lap.

"And where were you all this time?" he asks the bear while the number dials. "You usually come out to sniff at Alfred to see if he has any snacks on him."

The bear doesn't give him any more than an upwards glace for a reply which Matthew accepts without question. The blonde tilts his head back against the couch and dazes up at the ceiling while the dial tone rings in his ear before it's picked up and a rushed question is thrown out at him in lieu of a greeting.

"Yeah, hi to you too, Ivan," he speaks into the receiver. "Alfred came over today, just left… Yeah, he said he was with him but they're not seeing each other or anything like that…"

His eyes stray away from the ceiling and back down to the screen. "I don't know, but I'm a little worried about him…"

..

..

..

..

..

Pale moonlight filters in through the elongated windows, reflecting off the white colored walls and being the only source of real illumination in the dark room.

A man stands in front of these windows, waiting, expecting. He hears the faint ticking of his watch working in sync with the beat of his heart and when the fatal sound of wood groaning under the weight of age resonates through the stillness, he allows a collected breath to spill from his lips while taking in the cool breeze that comes in through the open portal.

"When the Lamb opened the fourth seal," he quotes. "I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, 'Come and see!'."

A shadowed figure enters the room, creeping in quietly without a sound. The heavy wood door creaks behind him as it closes and in a swift motion, the lock is secured.

"And now it's my turn," the man at the window continues to say. "Isn't that right?"

He slowly turns to face his fate, unable to make out the blue irises behind the glint of glass and grimaces at the smile he's seen day after day that parts only to say:

"Good evening, Mr. President."

**xxx**

-I feel like I should really think up a better summary. B/

-And OC's galoooore~! All these nameless officious looking government people are not real nor are they meant to represent real people. Just wanted to throw that out there...

-So yeah, next chapter: Time Jump! I think... not totally sure yet. All the same though, it's gonna come out on the 14th. ;D

-Btw, and this has absolutely no relevance at all to the fic but I just wanted you guys to know, the Sucker Punch soundtrack is my new love. -heart-

**xxx**

Hey, you! Yeah, _you_!  
>Check this link out: www. dailymotion videoxi1ax5_noise_videogames

**xxx**

Anonymous Reviews:

Em: Chabella still has a MySpace? You still have a MySpace? o.O

Sunshine: But-but-but.. Killjoys never die! D: I know, I'm horrible. I keep getting side tracked by this fic, I'll admit that, but the editing is coming along... Anyway, I think I should marry you, I think that'd be a good idea. :3 Oh, and pffft! It's just there for aesthetic reasons, _nothing _important about it at all. B)


	3. The Stiller I Stand

**xxx  
><strong>**III.  
><strong>**xxx**

The scene has gone from day to night and the shrill cries of the white violin echoes off the theatre's walls as the performance crescendos.

The Violinist stands with perfect posture, the intensity of his act doing nothing to relinquish his bearing while the other curls into himself amidst the loose soil and dying grass. His head lifts when a split second of silence overtakes the auditorium, thinking it to be the end and has his spirits crushed once more as music fills his ears.

"What exactly are you aiming for?" he dares ask.

"For the end," comes the simple answer, spoken as though it is the most reasonable conclusion.

"The end of what?"

"Of many things," he's told. "Of everything."

The other's pair of baby blue's look up at the identical pair looking down on him. "Why?"

"What part of the greater good do you not understand?" The Violinist replies in an irritated tone. "This will be beneficial to the children, this will make everything better for them, for you-"

"Things were better for me already."

"How could you possibly say such a thing after the mess that's done nothing but accumulate over the years bombards you with slander and hatred?" The Violinist demands. "How could you be content in a situation that needs me to pull you out of?"

"I had Vanechka!" the other shouts. "As long as I had him, nothing else mattered!"

The Violinist falters, a note goes sour and the bow falls from his hand as he brings it down unto the shrunken form who remains still and waits for the contact against his face that will have him crash onto his side. The force against the other's cheek snaps like the crack of a pistol and fills the hall before the impromptu intermission comes to an end with The Violinist kneeling slightly for the bow and returning to his posture.

The beginning low tones mix well with the strangled whimper that's not able to be held back by the other cradling his reddened face. They're soon overtaken, completely washed out by the progression of music as it struggles to return to it's former sound.

"You're so selfish," The Violinist talks down to him all the while. "Willing to let everything I've created crumble while you dick around like an idiot."

"I'm not an idiot," he mutters.

"You are an idiot," comes the correction. "But you'll see, how better off we'll be when the end of the world comes with the new day."

The Violinist tells him of an apocalyptic vision that will occur from those who choose to pay no mind to the workings of the world, more concerned with their petty complaints and overindulgence of superficiality and from those who've decided to put a stop to greed and corruption by drenching their hands in the blood of their fellow man and from those who understand and acknowledge the wrong and are ignored, left to do little more than broadcast their findings to the general public in hopes of alerting the masses and are only recognized as paranoid conspiriologists who turn on one another for their differing viewpoints and are therefore belittled and beaten down on and tossed to the gutters…

**-.-.-**

_While Spitting Out the Blood and Screaming, "Someone Save Us!"_

**-.-.-**

The dining area buzzes with conversation, mostly with talk of how America and Japan sit away from the others which leads to theories of this being the reason why Ivan himself is absent from the scene. The two notice, of course, but think very little of it even with the added disapproving looks from both of their respective 'families'.

"In a way it's kind of funny," America says. "It's like we actually got people to feel some kind of sympathy towards Ivan."

Japan makes no audible reply, a simple dip of his head is all that's given to assure the other that his words are heard and taken into account for.

"I think Arthur's actually glaring at me," he goes on.

"Have you made any official contact with Arthur-san?" Japan asks.

America slides his eyes away from his former mentor and answers, "No, not really. We did have a nice little chat where he cornered me before the first half started, but I kept that as short as possible."

"Will he not find that suspicious?"

"Probably," the blonde shrugs. "But the way I figure he'll just think it's me not wanting to hear a lecture than me keeping something from him. Nah, I can't have a lot of contact with him, he'll figure it out."

Again, there is no reply from the man across from him, mainly for the reason that there is no real reason to reply. All the same, the silence lives for no more than a few moments before America breaks into it with speech.

"I appreciate the cooperation though," he says. "I thought I was gonna have to talk your ear off before I got you out to negotiate something."

"It was either cooperate or struggle," Japan tells him. "Considering the outcome of the last time we met, perhaps I have learned something from that."

America immediately takes the defense. "You can blame your messenger for that mess."

"And not your translator?"

"That's over with," the blonde huffs. "Forget that, we're working on this right now."

"Of course."

Silence again.

"I'm not a total asshole," America mutters.

"Of course."

America shifts forward in his seat to regain some level of comfort, though in doing so, he's able to spot the glimpse of a light colored garment barely peeking from behind the massive entry leading into the room before it disappears from his line of sight completely, most likely being pulled back by it's owner. A sudden bought of intrigue sparks his curiosity in a way that has him favoring the idea of abandoning Japan in search of some sport, though those thoughts are slightly pushed back with the other's sudden interest in conversation.

"I will admit my concern of the other's when you make it publicly known just what it is you are planning tomorrow."

America snaps back into the conversation with a quick shake of his head. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. No, I'm more concerned about the people when it becomes world wide knowledge. There will be those who won't take too nicely to a sudden disillusion to the workings they've known for all their lives. Though I'm pretty sure it'll be the normal cases of rioting and violence, which isn't too hard to handle either, but still a pain.

"And you are certain of this?"

"That's the beauty of it," he tells Japan while standing. "People do terrible things to each other when it all falls apart, but it's always the same things. That's what makes our jobs easier. I'll be right back."

"I will be sure to collect you before the meeting begins," Japan farewells with a rare open expression that shows he knows exactly whom it is America plans to corner.

America ignores the parting all together and leaves the other's side, maneuvering through the tables and pays no heed to the many eyes he feels follow his movements as he makes his way to the entrance. Once outside, he has no need to look about him in search of anyone, he's already aware of the presence lingering despite the visual absence.

Still, he makes no show of knowing and begins to trudge through the maze of corridors all while feigning oblivious to the second shadow that stalks his own. He quickly takes on a familiar path and in a few swift strides saunters through the door to one of the many smaller conference rooms and leaves the door slightly ajar before taking a seat in one of the many leather fitted chair surrounding the elongated table in the center and closes his eyes. A subtle draft creeps in, brushing against the hem of his pants and a minute of a smile plays on his lips.

"You used to be sneakier," he remarks, slowly opening his eyes to see the tall figure standing in front of the closed door.

Ivan gives him a curious once over before stepping away and approaches with light footsteps.

"I still am," he says. "When I choose to be."

"Does that mean that you meant for me to see you?" asks America. "Someone might wonder why."

"Perhaps they will think that it is for the same purpose you meant for me to follow."

America raises an eyebrow at that. "What makes you think I meant for you to follow me?"

"If not," Ivan begins while running the tips of his fingers along the surface of the table before them, "then I would like to say what an interesting room choice to make for a private moment."

America's eyes follow his movements, he knows exactly what this room is and has no doubt that Ivan is recalling those many instances where he's pressed the blonde's back against the table while lifting one leg over his shoulder to bury himself deeper into Alfred, who in turn becomes nothing more than a half-dressed mewling mess squirming beneath him.

"The chair's are pretty comfy," America says off handedly, acting to snap them both out of the reverie. "But you wouldn't know about that, huh?"

Ivan's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they snap in another direction as another foggy memory of him straddling Alfred in one of the chairs present and then bit down on the blonde's shoulder as he aligned his member with Ivan's entrance and pushed himself in while muttering encouraging words and terms of endearment into his ear.

"Why did you come here?" he asks America after quickly snapping himself out of his day dreams.

"Because I knew you would follow me," is the honest answer. "Why were you hiding?"

"Because I knew you would come looking for me to know why… I wanted to speak with you."

"So you had to go into KGB mode? You could've just come up to me at any moment."

"Would you have spoken to me in that case?"

America hesitates. "Probably not."

"And there you have it."

"Only because I'm pretty sure you would want to talk about all that break-up bullshit," he tells him. "Which is still what you wanted to talk about with me, right?"

"Amongst other things."

America scoffs. "Like you calling up my brother at all hours of the night for who knows how long?"

"Hardly," Ivan replies. "It was the one time, and it was made at a decent hour for Matthew."

"Whatever you say," America responds with a wave of his hand and reclines in his chair. "Why can't you just leave it alone already?"

" Because I do not believe you. Our arrangement could have been seen as a bit of an inconvenience, but it never was one for either of us."

"Maybe not for you two, but it was for me."

America realizes his mistake too late as he bites down on his bottom lip and looks away from Ivan who furrows his brows together at the extra words he would have been able to hold back had he not been so honest before hand.

"I'm done," he says quickly while shooting up from his seat and ignores Ivan's calls for him to wait and continue their discussion.

America leaves the room in a hurry, leaves the door wide open as he begins to storm off back into the direction of the dining area only to come back into contact with Japan, who as promised had been on his way to fetch the other for the remainder of the day's meeting. He passes him by, not a word exchanged.

Naturally, Japan follows after, keeping behind him in step though at the same pace and even stops beside him when America's flight finally comes to a halt. He makes no inquire verbally, instead he waits for what America will tell him when he's coherent enough to admit what he had done.

He does, however angrily, admits it to the other's impartial looking expression.

"I fucked up."

..

..

..

..

..

Ivan comes to the conclusion that there are many advantages to knowing someone so intimately for a long period of time.

Unlike many of the others whom have taken the night off to whisper with their bosses behind closed doors on the many interesting transgressions that occurred in both party's separate conferences, Ivan remains by his lonesome in his own hotel room with the lights shut off and slightly reclined in a provided armchair by the sliding glass door that leads out to the balcony.

He slumps further back, slipping his eyes closed and raises a hand to rest against them for added effort. In this position he thinks back to what had transpired between him and the blonde hours earlier, the words and the actions, to his manner during the conference, filled with double meanings and subtle insinuations hidden underneath subtext that are overshadowed with a boisterous air that is almost in character for his Fedya.

He's not fooled by it though, not after their previous encounter, he's able to discern the flaws and cracks in the mask the other's been wearing, and he has no doubt now as to what is the reason behind many events he's been aware of in the time frame of the last Conference to this moment.

The only uncertainty that remains is the why behind the reason, and that he feels may very well be the most important of all.

The hand falls away from his face and Russia opens his eyes. He stands away from the chair and in a few short strides is by his bed, shrugging his coat back on before exiting from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

**xxx**

-Spot the quote from The Filth and I'll write you a oneshot. :D

-So the next chapter won't be out 'till May~. Why? Because I like to correlate things that may or may not make sense to anyone other than me.

-Really though, I'm having my own fun with this fic. Like those vids I link, those are total Dr. D inspired and they're not important. They don't really have anything to do with anything.

**xxx**

Hey, you! Yeah, _you_!  
>Check this link out: www. dailymotion videoxi7srf_now-at-midnight-all-the-agents_fun

**xxx**

Anonymous Reviews:

Em: True... And I never said you couldn't quote Nietzche, I just said I wouldn't take you srsly if you did.

Sunshine: Glory is boolshit! Violate! Violate!


	4. The Faster I Run

**xxx  
><strong>**IV.  
><strong>**xxx**

When America answers the door, he knows exactly who it is that's calling on him.

He allows himself to be brushed to the side as the tall Slavic nation saunters into his hotel room and takes a small bit of time to close the portal shut and secure it with the minimal amount of security the locks provide. He slowly turns; his back pressed up against the wood and regards the other standing in the center of the room with some amusement from being stared back at so coldly.

Russia remains silent, as does America, and there's only the far off distant sounds of nightlife happenings from beyond the shut window while the latter attempts to think of something a little more fitting for this reunion other than Hello? How are you?

-.-.-

And Did You Come to Stare or Wash Away the Blood?

-.-.-

"You're looking good," America finally comments.

The compliment does little to relieve the tension, if anything it only accentuates how stiff the atmosphere is between them, though neither one seems too inclined to have it alleviated.

He removes himself from the doorway and languidly saunters to his own set of provided arm chairs, making sure to take the one directly in front of Russia's line of vision. He gestures to the empty spot perpendicular to his own and says, "Take a seat, why don'tcha?"

"I will not be staying for long," Russia replies but approaches cautiously all the same.

"Well then, what can I do you for? It's getting late, y'see, and it's gonna be a busy day tomorrow."

"And why is that, Amerika?"

A feral smile starts to slowly form on the blonde's lips. "It's a surprise."

"I never did appreciate a surprise," Russia tells him, his own small smile taking shape.

"Nah, you were never all that fun."

"And you never all that bright."

"If that's a jab at the slip up I made, what can I say?" America shrugs. "Just got caught up talking to an old friend. Though we were never really friends were we?"

"Not with you. Never with you."

"No," the blonde agrees. "No one's ever friends with me. It's always Alfred they've wanted. It's easy to handle an idiot, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>He lightly chuckles at the sight of Ivan tightly clutching hands into fists. "Now that, that's one little thing that made me accept their relationship when it started. Maybe not completely accept, 'cause God knows I hate you, but tolerated it. Ivan has a sort of dedication that's a rarity nowadays, almost admirable if he didn't come off as clingy. But, with your history, guess that's not too surprising."<p>

"I do not think Fedya would like you to be speaking of Ivan in such a way."

America waves his warning off. "There isn't a lot of what Alfred thinks that matters to me. We don't work like you two, y'see. Small differences in us that just doesn't let that happen."

"Unfortunate, he is the better half in my opinion."

"Yeah well, your opinion also means shit to me."

"Yes, I recall that conversation."

"No need to sound so emotional over it. If I recall correctly, you were unhappier than me about that unofficial alliance of ours."

"You were not exactly capable of keeping your displeasure to yourself either."

"No, but every little thing I did or said or even implied was criticized. None of it was ever good enough. Of course, I got used to it, but I don't think Alfred did."

"And what is the meaning of that?"

America sighs dreamily while a fond smile shapes his lips as he recalls a certain memory. "Alfred, Alfred, Alfred… I thought there was some promise in him, y'know. Something beyond that enormous hero complex of his, and I was really sold when it was his call to drop those bombs. But then there he went, wanting to help Japan afterwards and the whole fucking world afterwards, and he got himself into one mess after another, after another, after another, until we end up here, where even our own home has nothing good to say about us anymore. And as much as I think he's an idiot, he's still a part of me, still have to take care of him."

The blonde runs a hand through his hair tiredly. "It's my fault too though. I shouldn't have gone away completely, and I wouldn't have if I had known that you and the other one over there were going to throw a pissy fit for forty years. Ah well, live and you learn. Which I think is a lesson that everyone needs to remember."

He reclines further into his seat, crosses one leg over the other with an all around pleased look on his face while saying, "Let's teach everyone what it's like to live in a world without the States interfering. Let's close up the borders, cut off all ties, and let the world deal with their own problems like they used to. The world can fuck itself over and I can make myself strong again."

"That is impossible," Russia tells him. "In this day, Isolationism is an ideal long gone. With the political ties that have been made up while you left Alfred in charge, such a feat is impossible to manage without rousing suspicion from within your own government-"

"Not if every politician who has any pull is already on my side, rady to do my bidding, and ready to do whatever it is I tell them to," America snaps, sitting straight up in his seat. "They're adorable really, especially the ones who were gutsy enough to take out their own predecessors. But even those that didn't are still ready to pass anything I tell them to, making everything that goes through perfectly legal as far as the People are concerned."

"And what of your President? I hardly think he will allow you and your followers to ruin his own country. How do you plan to dispose of him without rousing notice?"

"Russia," America laughs. "He already knows."

Russia keeps his eyes from widening in surprise, doing the opposite and narrows them down to slits as though trying to come to terms with the blonde's words. This of course, gives America ample reason to delve even deeper into an explanation with a jubilant grin.

"He already knows! Hell, he's probably the first one to have figured out that I'm the one in charge, said nothing about it, allowed all these people to die, and he's agreed to do anything I say, just to keep himself alive. And y'know what, I can always use a new puppet. Keeps my hands clean. Well, cleaner anyway."

Throughout his revelations, he's able to dissolve the guise hiding the disbelief that he can now see radiating off from Russia's being by simple observation and his laughter begins anew. "Did you honestly think that I would tell you what I've been planning if I thought you'd be able to do anything to stop it?"

In all honesty, Russia's intentions had been to only provoke an upfront confrontation, all the same he cannot refrain himself from asking,"Are you insane?"

America only shrugs. "If I am, you'd be able to tell, wouldn't you?"

"Do not put me on the same level as you. I never did anything so degrading as to use my own people against each other for the progression of my home."

"No, you prefer the more upfront course of action and just shoot them down in the streets yourself."

His words cause an instantaneous reaction as Russia's hand dives into the depths of his coat and the pipe that's long since replaced his first comes out from within, just as America jumps from his seat and produces an S&W from the inside of his jacket. He's able to block the metal bar coming in at him by catching it right at the trigger guard and uses his free hand to grip at the tip of the pipe, causing Russia to place his own hand nearby to keep the power in check. America doesn't seem to mind the stalemate, all he does is smile.

"Did I hit a nerve?" he asks with an unabashed sense of false ignorance.

Russia grits his teeth as he sets his footing a little most solid; one foot in front of the other, urging the top half of his body forward to throw the blonde down and away from his weapon. America fixes his own stance as well, using his most of his strength to keep the other bay, to keep himself from harm.

"My, my, my," the blonde says. "Now this is a problem. I could easily push you off, but that would give you the chance to have another go at me and that's probably more trouble than it's worth."

"And so you think to rather shoot me, maybe?" Russia asks him, already knowing this game.

"It's not exactly a hard feat to manage." America proves this point by angling the barrel a little lower to aim at the other's forehead, he even pulls the hammer back for good measure. "See?"

"And what will you tell the others if you choose to shoot me? There will be no hiding which side you are now."

"Listen, cat'll be out of the bag later anyway, what difference does a few hours make."

Amethyst and sapphire lock on one another as the first quietly states, "You are the same as you ever were."

"Come on now, big guy, you're making me blush."

"It was no compliment."

"Now you're just being mean."

Russia's grip tightens, he forces more strength into his bearings. "Do not think for a second that I will allow you to take Fedya away, no matter the choice you make."

America can't help the smile that takes shape as he hears the words. "If you couldn't keep up with him, what makes you think you can take me on?"

"Things are not how you lived them. There have been many changes."

"Well, when you put it that way."

His eyes close with the splatter. He only hears him fall.

..

..

..

..

..

He's hunched over himself, his head hangs down to his chest while listening to the dying echoes of a performance coming to it's end. He's completely listless amongst the yellowed grass and dust covered planks of wood.

The Violinist has his back to him, no longer interested in anything he may do or say and in all honesty, there's not much for him to do now other than exist and serve. With a heavy heart, he pushes his hand through locks of blonde hair and presses his right index finger to the bridge of his nose, all with the intention of pushing his glasses back to their proper place before remembering that he is no longer in possession of them. This recollection seems to toss him even further down this whirlwind spiral of depression.

Though when the night backdrop falls, and in it's place the dawn is shown in the same manner as the first scene (though looking at it closely, the entire scene is a tad brighter than before), it's a small beacon of hope… for something… for anything.

"You were wrong," he breathes, unable to contain himself.

Despite his disinterest, The Violinist does acknowledge his words and responds. "What's that?"

"You were wrong," he repeats. "The world… the world didn't end."

His words go without a response for a moment or two, the last trickle of notes that flow over are far more favored that the pitiful clinging beliefs of a defeated man. It's only when the final note is drawled out unhurriedly and he takes the opportunity to breathe in deeply as new wind picks up and tussles his own strands of blonde hair that he's able to relax his stance and turn his own set of blue eyes on the other and peer from behind his glasses with a placid expression as the music ceases once and for all.

"Are you sure?"

**xxx**

-That's it! That's the end!

-Why?

-Because... the aftermath is secondary. :3

-Anyway, if you got the reference there at the end end, I love you forever. That's pretty much the only part of this chapter that stayed the same since the start of this mess. (Which means that Ozy's reference earlier, was totally added as I went along. I should not watch movies while I write…)

-But yeah, it's officially 3:30 am in the OC, and no amount of caffeine can keep me up anymore. Until next time then lovies, stay shiny. :D

**xxx**

There's actually no video for this chapter. Well, there was, but my computer died and all my music, vids, and pics went with it. I could remake it, but I'm a lazy beezie. :P It's not like anyone watched them anyway, right?

EDIT: I remade it. Go here to check it: www. dailymotion video/xipo2v_o-er-the-land-of-the-free_shortfilms


End file.
